development reindeer circle • river patrol

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : snow. it falls in steady, powder soft flakes of frost about the wasting riverlands, layering bare willow branches in white - grey slush. itd been upon them since early the night prior, cold enough to stick and pile up, bitter cold against his raw pawpads. mist settles heavy over the land, thick and smog-like, ever moving where it hovers over the thin path they follow upstream. he steps alongside his brother, long limbs in sync and useful for once, in this building snow. his head is low, wind - battered ears sloped back against his skull to prevent thin, tufted tips from freezing. leafbare is harsh and this one has been no different — though there was little worse than the ache of hunger wrought upon him during his time in the marshes, the rivers were providing less by the day, numbing fishing paws in seconds.

the king steps along the side furthest to the river, stares along the shore where it laps hungrily at dying blades of grass, seeping into now waterlogged soil,“ ich verstehe nicht. ” comes his tone, frustration dipping into his odd tongue — low and sharp, for only his brothers craning ears. the waters had never come this far upon their shore and he’s not the slightest idea of how to stop it, or if he even could. the waters were wild, untamed, provided their protection, their food . . but now he lifts his gaze over sloshing waves, squints against the onslaught of wind battering sharp, jutting features, pupils flexing against the haze that seemed to thicken with each step. the rivers would always do as they wished, cruel as it could be. the man could only hope for an easy fix.

the cobblestone bridge comes into view ahead, nothing but a blur of grey - black amidst the backdrop of roaring, misting falls. the waters beneath it seemed to warble, high and sloshing noisily — as the patrol nears, a mass forms beneath the mist, right along the curve leading towards sunningrocks. chunks of greying alabaster, sloshing together in thick, clumping masses. the water on the side furthest to sunningrocks is low, sloped and corroded shore drained, given way to frost at its sunken edges, “is that . . ice? “ fog forms around his agape maw, eyes wide and gleaming — ice? it’s freezing? freezing, and sending the waters that branch out along its sides to rise dangerously. along the other side, fish lap lazily in the low waters, “ shit. “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar is unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
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• @CLAYFUR @LAGOONPADDLE @BUCKGAIT. @iciclepaw @RATTLING WASP.
  iciclepaw will be directly assigned under clayfur! tagging those who showed interest in the meeting, but anyone is welcome to jump in!
  
  
• none.

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[DogTeeth]

Blonde toes smothered by frost, muzzle tilted away from the breeze as it whipped his long curls mercilessly. Stinging his eyes, so he peers toward the tall form of Cicadastar through his lashes. Dapping his wrist over his watering sights.

The threatening spread of the river, the solidified water jagged and growing like mold. Their tall willowy sovereign speaks his tongue, Dogteeth doesn’t have to understand the words to understand the woe. He slowly makes his way to stand next to him, planting comically smaller. The gale tugging his tail and causing his hocks to waver where he stands.

" shit… indeed " Dogteeth hardly cursed, but this- it was worth it.

" have you ever seen it like this? " he breathes out, recalling his youth where the pond had once frozen. This was no pond! surely the cold could not stop the heart of Riverclan.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth
  — twenty-five moons
  — 2023 VOICE & ACCENT
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with blue eyes.
  — very gentle soul / easily upset and sensitive
  — deals a nasty bite
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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[FISHFACE]

Fishface's initial reaction to news of the river's rising was not commensurate with that of his leader's. Frankly, the apprehension in Cicadastar's words during the meeting went in one ear and right out the other. As far as he's aware, it's quite normal for bodies of water to swell up when there's a lot of rain or snow!

It is only when the tabby observes it firsthand does he finally understand.

"Oh, the calamity!" he cries, scrunching up his brows so as to fend off the dreadful air currents which fought against his face. Reflected in his narrowed eyes are white-capped waves thrashing about, and as his vision skims along the cusp of the waterway, it inevitably falls upon the source of Cicadastar and Dogtooth's profanity. "Woah..." produces the tom, tone bordering on disbelief. "I didn't know that could happen!"​

 

[CLAYFUR]

It’s been months now since Clayfur first dipped himself into the river, began to trust in its current. He is not afraid of the water now, not frightened by its pull or the easy danger it poses. He’s grown fond of the river, in a way; it feels more like an old friend to him now, an ally to himself and all of RiverClan. Really, the best part is that it serves as a barrier between himself and WindClan.

These days he doesn’t fear the river, but when Cicadastar breaks the news that it is, in fact, rising—the chocolate tom feels that old familiar feeling begin to creep back in. Only this time it isn’t fear for himself or his own safety, but for the safety of his clanmates. He worries for Willowroot and Boneripple’s kits who have hardly even learned to exist yet, for Wolverinefang and Hyacinthbreath who haven’t lived near the river long, for even his fellow warriors, especially the drypaws, who are not only looked down on but also stand little chance of saving themselves if they happen to be swept away.

When Clay senses danger, he’s always the first to volunteer to face it, to throw himself in front of the threat in order to protect his clanmates. This time, though, he follows obediently, cautiously, behind the mottled leader of the patrol. With Iciclepaw tagging along, he sticks close by her, occasionally brushing his tail across hers just to remind himself that she’s here and she’s safe. If things go bad—like they did the last time he followed Cicadastar on a big patrol—then he’s close to his niece. He can react quickly, get her out of harm’s way. Of course, it’s just a simple patrol to check on the river’s rising level, but the last big patrol had just been a simple patrol to check on a strange box.

The leader’s curse draws Clay’s focus away from doom and gloom, and back to the problem at paw. Fishface and Dogteeth both seem equally surprised, one a bit more subdued than the other, and Clay can’t help the gasp that escapes him when he finally sees it.

Ice. Solid, unwavering chunks of ice have begun to impede the water’s path. Clayfur doesn’t quite understand how that makes the water level rise, but it seems to be a pretty terrible discovery anyway. "I don’t think we can do anything about that," he says, nervous paws kneading at the frozen earth. As always he can’t stay still, even in the face of this. "So… what do we do about it?" Because surely their leader has a plan, or will come up with one, even if it seems like an impossible situation.
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[cranecatcher]

TAGS — "Haha. Wow," Cranecatcher murmurs, his laughter lacking any humor. He loves the river; he did even when he was in the marshlands, before RiverClan had come together. Other cats had thought him strange for it in his youth, but at least among RiverClanners he was understood by most. He loves the river because it's wild and strong- things that he likes to think he is, too. The idea that anything could wrangle it into submission is just... asinine. Even this fierce weather couldn't best the churning black waters, the spring of life. Right? But when the evidence is right in front of him, Cranecatcher finds it hard to stick to that belief- and to hope.

His bicolor gaze flicks over his clanmates as they chitter nervously; he thinks he'll join in once his anxieties can calm enough to let him speak intelligently (as if he usually does that). If Cicadastar is nervous, he sees no reason to keep his own calm. These warriors are much older than he is anyway- if they've never seen the river in such a state, then maybe it's a sign from StarClan that they're entering the end times. Haha. He tries to amuse himself. Even if he's nervous, doomsday prepping isn't really suited to his tastes.

Once he can organize his thoughts in any meaningful way, he files through them. Like Clayfur, he's worried for the new batch of kits that roam camp with no idea of the rising waters that could threaten to sweep their den away from them. The drypaws wouldn't know how to survive a swell of water either, he suspects- but even the most skilled swimmers (himself included, he thinks) would have a challenging time against the frigidity of the Leafbare river. If the water could numb his paw in seconds, he dreads to find out what might happen if he submerged himself in it completely. The only scenario he can see at the end of that tunnel is one that ends in joining StarClan. He's not exactly keen on the idea.

Clayfur prompts the patrol- or maybe Cicadastar -for an answer. Cranecatcher doesn't really have one. He shuffles his slate-hued forepaws in the snow, trying to piece together ideas before they leave his tongue, and mostly failing. "If it rises too far, it'll sweep away the nursery," he comments, tone chipper because if he isn't chipper then he is just afraid. He's sure the patrol can see what he's spelling out. Willowroot and Boneripple wouldn't want to stay there with their new brood, not if the ice continues to be a problem. "We could move the kits and queens into a different den? One further from the bank." Not that he's solving the root of their problem right now- but he isn't sure that any cat could do that, let alone himself.​

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[HAILFROST]

Similar to Cranecatcher, hearing Cicadastar's genuine worry quickly twisted her stomach into knots. She had wanted to see the rising waters herself, but at her clanmates' buzzing anxieties, she felt a terrible uncertainty run through her veins. Still, she took a deep breath and let herself trust-fall into Riverclan. They were more than themselves now- they were a clan, and clans figure out problems together. Swallowing back doubt, she addressed both Clayface and Cranecatcher. "We'll at the very least need to reinforce it... but moving the occupants out makes sense, too." Cranecatcher was a much younger warrior than she was, but she couldn't help but appreciate his initiative, and she took some level of comfort in his tone that suggested much less fear than her own. Despite her general dislike of motherhood, her first instinct was to think about Dovepaw; was he going to be okay?

"If the water floods into camp, what's our plan?" Icy eyes were directed at Cicadastar, but the question was generally open-ended.

———————————— .°✧
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[iciclefang]

She doesn't mind the temporary reassignment to Clayfur. As far as mentors -- or warriors she's meant to heel -- he's a laid-back guy, and he's her kin, after all. She grimaces at the constant tail-tip touches, but it's a grimace of exasperation. She's almost eight moons! Hardly a kit anymore. But she only gives Clayfur a fond, razzled look at the most recent tail-touch. "I'm okay, you know," she insists, expression remaining neutral but light blue eyes shimmering with amusement.

That amusement soon dies as the patrol, led by their leader, comes to a halt along the shore. The river climbs along the banks, frozen in gray-green splendor. Iciclepaw's eyes widen as she pads forward to examine the scene. A dull flame of panic spreads throughout the patrol -- they'd expected plenty, but this? This is dangerous, and the warriors she's accompanied begin to throw ideas around.

"We can't stop the water from rising, or from freezing," she mutters in response to Clayfur's question. "Will we..." She fixes Cidadstar with a bold look. "Will we be okay? If the river gets any higher... will we be okay in camp?"

Cranecatcher and Hailfrost suggest relocating the queens and kits, and Iciclepaw is disquieted at the thought. They've stayed in that nursery her whole life! She'd been born there, toddled with her littermates there, visited new RiverClan kits. Where would they move them too? Could they move them far enough?​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[LAGOONPADDLE]

Lagoonpaddle's never seen anything like it.

It bothers her. The new warrior, she's supposed to know all about the river. Supposed to know all about the watery trenches she's grown up in, that she's been named twice over.

But the tortoiseshell has never seen it like this - ice lodged within its trail, leaving it nowhere else to go but up. Rising. Slowly, but all too quick. She doesn't know what to do about it, doesn't know what will happen. She should know, she's been here longer than the average RiverClanner has, and yet --

"What do we do?" is the question she finds herself asking. An echo of Clayfur's own, a concern shared with the rest of the patrol. The river flooding the camp is brought up as a possibility and Lagoonpaddle doesn't think that would happen. The river? Attacking those who live off of it? Why? Surely it wouldn't get that far, right? The ice would melt at some point, before the river could flood the camp. It has to.

"We'll be fine," she assures Iciclepaw, a twitch of the tail following her words. Uncertainty hangs over her, all the same at the thought of her home destroyed by its own infliction.
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